


221b's trouble with tribbles

by flags



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crack, Gen, TRIBBLES EVERYWHERE, Tribbles, a lot of cute, sort of, star trek crossover, tribble death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-29
Updated: 2012-07-29
Packaged: 2017-11-10 23:27:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/471909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flags/pseuds/flags
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock accidentally materialises a tribble into 221b, things happen. Cute things, to a point. An immensely silly fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	221b's trouble with tribbles

Sherlock had been tinkering with the blender as a part of a theory he'd been working on, the blades removed mostly due to John telling him that he wouldn't be stitching any of his fingers back on if he sliced them off.

The adjustment of a wire caused the appliance to spark and Sherlock's arms twitched as he resisted the reflex to drop it from the stinging sparks that bounced off his hands. With a puff of mysterious gold smoke and a slight humming noise the machine died down and after mentally assessing himself to check for any serious injuries or danger Sherlock looked back down at the blender.

Nestled inside was what appeared to be a quivering ball of fur. Frowning, Sherlock tipped the blender to drop the lump of light brown fuzz into his hand and was surprised to hear it let out a trilling squeak. Eyebrows making a valiant effort to reach his hairline, Sherlock stared at the warm and possibly sentient creature as it settled itself into the cradle of his hands.

"Fascinating…"

 

\-------------------

 

John had returned to their flat and was halfway through making a bee-line for the kitchen for some much deserved tea when he was stopped by the sight of Sherlock sprawled across the couch using John's laptop to surf the Internet.

This was not so strange itself except for the fuzzy round creature sitting on Sherlock's chest trilling happily at Sherlock's long fingers stroking it's fur.

"Don't tell me you're planing to experiment on a guinea pig Sherlock, there are laws against that you know."

Sherlock huffed and put the laptop away in disatisfaction.

"Guinea Pigs have eyes and ears and clawed feet. This creature doesn't seem to have any of those features, I don't suppose you know what it is? I could always shave it and find out."

John took the creature from Sherlock and held it against his chest in protection.

"Did it ever occur to you that it might need the extra warmth to survive?" 

The ball of fur did something akin to nuzzling against the wool of John's jumper and cooed happily.

"Friendly, isn't he?" Sherlock tilted his head to one side.

"Yeah, well, to like you it would have to be." John started to sort his fingers through the fur looking for any kind of defining feature. "What makes you so sure it's a he anyway?"

Sherlock shrugged. "It's more specific than it, unless you'd rather I name the thing. Gladstone could be fitting." He smirked.

"Fitting how?" John frowned. Naming the creature would mean having a sense of ownership, it was terribly cute but he wasn't sure he could allow a pet in a house that contained Sherlock in good conscience. The creature really did seem rather featureless but the dismayed trill it made when John put the thing down had to be emitted from some form of vocal chords, surely.

"Well he does seem rather reluctant to leave your side." Sherlock frowned "I don't suppose you know what it is?"

John watched the creature shuffle over towards where Sherlock's shins pressed against the coffee table and start to climb up the long legs.

"It's not any animal I've ever heard of… Where'd you get it- him from anyway?"

Sherlock scooped the furry creature up and placed it on his shoulder so the thing could nestle itself happily in his dark curls.

"I didn't get him from anywhere John; he just appeared."

"Appeared?"

"Materialised, I suspect, in the blender."

John gawked at him. "In the blend- you know what? No. Not even going to ask."

John sighed and watched Sherlock scratching the creature perched on his shoulder in a thoughtless sort of way.

"I've got to say, I'd never thought you'd be the type to get so affectionate with an animal."

"Don't be ridiculous John," Sherlock frowned

"I may have discovered a new form of life, it's important that I observe it closely and… keep… it-"the ball of fur had now crawled into Sherlock's scarf and hummed happily as it pressed itself into the space under Sherlock's jaw.

"John, could you confirm my heart rate for me?" He thrust forward a wrist and John leaned over the table to check his pulse.

"Your heart rate is steady and fairly normal for someone who's as relaxed as you seem." His brow furrowed. "Why?"

"It's trilling seems to have a tranquillising effect on the human nervous system."

Sherlock's nose crinkled in frustration at the small contented sigh that he let out then, John laughed and stroked the creature with the pad of two fingers.

"God knows you could do with a bit of tranquility now and then."

 

\------------------

 

Once they had persuaded Mrs Hudson to give Gladstone (because the name had stuck) back they came to two conclusions: Molly should never know. The mere existence of such a creature would clearly be too much for her heart to take if Mrs Hudson's reaction and Molly's love of cats and all things cute were anything to go by.

The second conclusion was reached after Gladstone did something close to sniffing the plate of bake goods Mrs Hudson had given them and let out shiver of delight. The next five minutes were spent with John handing bits of cookie to Gladstone and watching with rapt attention as the pieces gradually disappeared into the soft hair, crumbs getting caught on the strands. Sherlock watched carefully and muttered theories about osmosis and cell division and how could the thing be chewing when it had no mouth.

Once the plate was empty Gladstone shifted impatiently and let out a small questioning chirrup.

"I don't have any more! You ate all of it you greedy little thing- Sherlock don't look at me like that, at least I'm talking to a living creature instead of a skull."

He held Gladstone at eye level and brushed off stray crumbs.

"The plate was almost three times your size."

Gladstone, for his part, seemed undeterred by this fact and let out another questioning noise in the direction of the kitchen.

"He is quite clever, isnt he?" If John didn't know better he'd have though that was affection in Sherlock's tone.

 

\--------------------

 

The next morning John found Sherlock on the couch with Gladstone, looking significantly larger, sat on Sherlock's head like a fur hat.

This was probably due to the fact that Sherlock's lap was occupied by three more balls of fur, ranging in colour from white to sandy yellow to chocolate brown. John stared.

"So Gladstone's a girl then?"

Sherlock scoffed and scooped up the noisy bundle of fury creatures in his lap, passing two to John.

"The proper term is hermaphrodite I believe. Gladstone appears to be able to reproduce asexually, it's a common method mollusks."

He pointed to the brown and yellow ones in the crook of John's arm. "Anderson, Donovan," Then he gestured to the grey one in his left hand. "Lestrade."

John chuckled, "That's rather sweet of you, dare I ask why?"

Sherlock took Gladstone down from his head and let Lestrade clamber on top of it's progenitor.

"They make meaningless noise and I suspect hold about the same level of intellect as their namesakes."

John tried not to find that funny.

It wasn't an easy feat. "Well I suppose I should be flattered you didn't name one after me then."

"Well of course not, John." John smiled. "None of them roll about with a psychosomatic limp."

John chucked Donovan at Sherlock's face, Donovan just trilled with excitement while arching through the air.

 

\------------------

 

There was a problem.

There were several problems actually.

First of all the kitchen had been completely stripped of food and, to Sherlock's dismay, several of the less deadly chemicals.

The rest of the problems manifested in the cooing, moving, clumps of fuzz that seemed to have taken over their flat over the course of the night.

John and Sherlock stood there in shock for a moment.

"Bugger."

Sherlock nodded in agreement.

"Buggering, blasted hell!"

John noted with slight alarm that all the medication in the house also seemed to have been consumed, and possibly Sherlock's jar of cow's tongues.

Sherlock hummed in agreement to his outburst.

"Cunting, fucking, shit, ba-"

"John, while the creativity and relish you bring to cussing allows for an insightful glimpse of what your sex life must be like, I don't suppose you have any suggestions as to how we could fix this?"

It was John's turn to nod now.

"You're the genius. but I guess we'd need to do something to control their numbers before they spread across London like an adorable plague."

Sherlock looked suddenly excited.

"Something that doesn't involve setting them on fire."

He pouted but still looked determined.

"I think I may have something that might work."

 

\-----------------------

 

It had taken them two hours to create an airtight seal of the entire flat while wading through the mass of fur.

Sherlock had got together the remaining chemicals and created a smoke bomb solution set to go off five minutes after they fled the flat.

Standing in the hall, the air-proofing wouldn't have muffled any shrill shrieks that the slowly suffocating creatures would have made, Sherlock had assured John that the process would be painless and that the creature most likely would just think they were going too sleep. Once an hour had passed Sherlock had climbed onto the roof and released the now hopefully harmless smoke into the London skies. They removed the homemade seal on their door and took on the momentous task of filling garbage bags full of fuzzy bodies and leaving them in as many garbage skips as necessary.

That done they collapsed side by side on the couch and John mentally began trying to figure out what they would need to restock the kitchen and Sherlock lamented the loss of his experimental progress.

"Woo-hoo!" Mrs Hudson tapped on their open door politely and, to their astonishment, walked in holding Gladstone. (who they recognised from the bald spot where Sherlock had decided to study the skin.)

"I found this little dear hiding under my bed. The poor dear seems petrified for some reason."

She shushed Gladstone who's trills rose sharply in pitch as he was carried deeper into the flat. John eyed the creature warily but Sherlock strode over and swiftly took Gladstone and motioned Mr's Hudson out the door.

"Probably nerves from being in strange place, he'll calm down soon."

Mrs Hudson gave one last unsure glance. "Well if you're sure dear, but don't forget to feed him!"

John and Sherlock traded an uneasy look at the thought.

"No." and then Sherlock shut the door and headed for the kitchen with Gladstone tucked under one arm, shoving him unceremoniously into the plastic jug of the blender.

"What are you doing" John looked on in alarm.

"Trying to see if reproducing the effect that caused this thing to materialise might make it dematerialised as well."

John rubbed his neck in discomfort but said nothing to that.

Two hours later and Sherlock succeeded in materialising one tribble from 221b to some unknown location in some other dimension.

 


End file.
